Voldemort
by wolffromtheshadows
Summary: This is basically a chronicle of Voldemort's life, from the orphanage through his education at Hogwarts, and his reign of terror, etc.
1. Prologue

Voldemort

Prologue

The moment I discovered I was a wizard, I knew great power lay in store for me. I had always known I was special. I had always known there was something within me that made me better than the others. Magic ran through my blood, and magic set me apart and would give me new life. With magic, there was nothing beyond my grasp. There were stores of perpetual power just waiting for me to tap into. Nothing, not even immortality, that elusive aspiration of many was beyond the limits of my reach. If I could push the boundaries of magic farther than they had ever been pushed, who could say that immortality was impossible for me to obtain? Why should I, a being endowed with magical abilities, be forced to succumb to the shameful human weakness of death? What was there to stop me from mastering Death as my own? Nothing could stop me if I could learn to conquer Death. If I was the true master of Death, who in this world could stand in my way?


	2. The Early Years

Chapter 1 The Early Years

I had always been conscious of my surroundings, from the moment I came into this world. I vaguely remember my mother cradling me in her arms at the orphanage, with love in her eyes. Love! What a contemptible word! What use was love in this cruel world of survival? What was love but a pitiful, uselessly sentimental feeling expressed only by the weak? Love had no place in this world of mine. Though I was the last remaining descendant of Salazar Slytherin, a filthy orphanage was the place of my upbringing, the place I would grow to hate as I was oppressed and shunned there, never fully appreciated for all my greatness. For years, the orphanage was the only place I had known. As I grew older, I became conscious that there was indeed a larger world out there to explore, if only I could be set free. But there would be no defecting from the orphanage until I had come of age in the non-magical world. When I was eighteen, the world would be mine for the taking. But until then, it was nothing but nearly two decades of leading a pointless life in this madhouse. I constantly lacked ways to occupy my time in the orphanage. Others in the orphanage tried to reach out to me, to be friendly, but I did not need them. I shut them out from my life. They intruded upon my solitary existence. One could not live life dependent on other human beings. If I were to be self-sufficient in life, there was no room or time to fraternize with other humans. Relationships served only to get in the way of the things that truly mattered: ambition, glory, and greatness. The only satisfaction I ever got from the people around me was the satisfaction of causing them pain. I alone knew how fun it was to needle them, watch them wilt and crumble under torture. A few times, I felt a hot, burning feeling in the back of my mind when I caused others pain, but I brushed it off. It made me feel uncomfortable for what I had done, but I was able to easily shut down the feeling that spoiled everything enjoyable about hurting others. I was careful. No one was ever able to provide solid proof of any of my misdeeds, but all those in the orphanage cast a wary, suspicious eye on me, and anyone who disagreed with anything I had to say or do was…fixed. I first learned I held a strange power within me when I was at the tender age of six. Matron Cole was punishing me for getting up too late. Too late in her terms was anytime after the sun had risen. It was a ridiculous expectation of one so small, and in anger, I vowed to make her pay. She took a poker from next to the fireplace in her room and began beating me with it. At first, the pain was not so intense. It was merely an annoyance, a dull throb with every repeated hit. As she hit me in the backside once more, the pain began to multiply. Soon, the pain became almost impossible to bear. When she hit me yet again, I felt an unnatural force rise up inside of me. Without realizing what I was doing, I released the power, combining it with the anger inside of me. I could feel crackling heat coming from somewhere, and in an instant, I heard Matron Cole scream in pain. Her right hand was burned black, still smoking even after dropping the hot poker. I was bewildered at first, but quickly realized what had transpired. Somehow, in some way, I had caused the poker to light on fire and burn Matron Cole. There was something different that I possessed, something unique. I was sure of it. With a calm, confident air, I slowly strolled out of the Matron's room, leaving her rolling on the ground, still clutching her hand in agony. This was something special. What was this power that had enabled me to burn the poker? I tried many more times that day to force power to well up inside of me, but it was to no avail. No amount of straining and concentration created any results, and I realized over the course of weeks that it was not a power I could control. It was not a power I could force. It was a power of its own, which would not simply come when it was called, but would come when it felt the urge. This caused me to fall in greater awe of this power. It was a power which could be simultaneously terrible and great, a power that was uncontrollable and limitless. I could not bend it to my will, nor could I summon it at any time. It would come when it wanted to. This made the power infinitely more spontaneous, more dangerous, and altogether more wondrous. Who knew what this power could bring? I was eager to find out more, to learn just how much of this power of mine I would ever be able to harness.


	3. Others

Chapter 2 Others

Time passed slowly in the pointless existence I led at the orphanage. Nobody was on my side, yet nobody dared oppose me, for fear of feeling the full extent of my wrath. When I was ten years old, there was a little boy of about six who received a present I had wanted. He had gotten it for Christmas from a rich uncle. It was a brand-new red bicycle, never ridden. I felt jealousy course through my veins. I wanted that bicycle. I had craved material goods before, but that was a true prize. It was one of few objects worthy of my attention and affection. I decided to try to ease it from him the nice way. "Let me have your bicycle," I told him. "Let me have your bicycle and I will reward you." He simply smiled at me and said, "Sorry, Tom, but it's mine. You can ride it if you want." My expression darkened at these words, but I tried again, my tone a little more impatient. "I don't think you understand me," I said, with an undertone of menace. "I was not asking you to ride it. I want you to give it to me. That way, I can ride it anytime I want, because it will be mine." "No, I don't want to," he responded. "It's the best present I've ever got. Why should I hafta give it to you?" "I'll say it one more time," I growled. "You better…" "HE DOESN'T WANT TO!" screeched a little girl. "Dennis already told you twice! He says you can't have it, but you can ride it if you want. Now go away, because I want to ride his bicycle." I glared at her, but she refused to back down. I decided this was a battle I could not afford to win at the present moment. I cast a contemptuous glance at Dennis and walked away, as he said, "Thanks, Amy. I'll let you ride first." I was deep in thought after that incident. Nobody would embarrass Tom Riddle in that manner without suffering for it. I would bide my time, waiting for the right moment to revenge myself upon those two. The mere thought of being humiliated by two six-year-olds made me clench my teeth. I had tried asking him nicely, but he did not comply with my reasonable request. I would have to receive my retribution when the opportunity arose. A few weeks later, we left on a scheduled day trip to a seaside village. While the Matron and her assistant began setting up for the picnic, I approached Dennis, who was talking with Amy. "What do you want?" Amy demanded. "Hi, Tom," was all Dennis said. "Hello," I replied mechanically. "Do you mind if I show you something cool?" "Uh…OK," replied Dennis. "Follow me," was all I said. Obediently, they walked behind me as I led them away from the safety of the picnic area, and towards the dangers I knew lay beyond the village. After twenty minutes or so of walking, I reached a towering cliff, a sheer drop, black and faceless, which led up to a cave. I began climbing up the cliff, and hesitantly, Dennis and Amy followed my lead. "Close your eyes," I said. Slowly, I began using the power inside of me, and after a few moments, I was able to cause them to slowly levitate towards the top. Unaware of what was happening them, Dennis said, "This is weird. What's going on?" "Don't look," was all I said. "I'm bored," said Dennis. "Where is the cool thing?" "You'll see," I responded. I had no idea where I was going, but I knew there would be a way to scare them at the top of the cliff. Once we began reaching a higher altitude, Dennis looked down fearfully. "I'm scared," he whimpered, "Can we go back?" "Shhh!!" said Amy. "Don't be such a baby!" We reached the top of the cliff, and I found myself face to face with a vast cave which was ominously dark despite the bright afternoon sunlight. This was almost too perfect, I thought. It would be child's play to terrify them further in this cave. I was almost beginning to feel a little afraid myself. Almost. I walked into the cave, and hesitantly, Dennis and Amy followed, their teeth chattering. I walked through the cave, fully aware that each step I took was a step into the unknown. After a while, we reached a lake. That was as much as I could surmise. I could see the lake's surface, shimmering eerily in the darkness, the water almost unnaturally smooth. As Dennis and Amy stood next to me, Amy said, "This is stupid. Let's go back already." "No," I commanded. "We stay here until I say so." I was planning to throw each of them into the water, and let them swim out, if they could. But just as I was about to pick up Amy and heave her in, I heard the soft, slippery sound of something sliding through the water. Instinctively, I backed away, but then, a twenty-foot long serpent came out of the water, its tongue flickering in and out of its mouth dangerously. The serpent glared at us and hissed. It opened its mouth, and I could see its fangs open and close as its head moved straight towards me. Suddenly, the only thing I desired was to leave this cave safely, with my head and life intact. Revenge was nothing, when it would cost me my life. As it appeared that my life dwindled to a few tense, fearful moments, in desperation, I cried, "Stop!" But that was not what I heard emitting from my mouth. I heard a faint, sharp hissing noise. On command, the serpent stopped, its mouth inches away from my neck. "Who are you?" the snake asked. I was amazed. I could understand what the snake was saying! "That is of no consequence to you," I hissed. "Get her." Obediently, the snake wrapped itself around Amy, squeezing tight as Amy struggled to breathe. Petrified with fear, Dennis stood there, unable to summon the courage to help Amy. Amy grew blue in the face, and at last, I commanded, "Stop." I did not want to kill her. It would raise awkward questions and create a set of extremely suspicious circumstances. The snake relinquished its grip as Amy collapsed to the ground. I splashed some of the cold water from the lake on her face repeatedly, until she awoke, staring at me right in the face. I grabbed both of them and said, "You will not repeat any of what happened here to anybody." I repeated the message again, wrapping my words in a commanding tone. With a ringing power, I repeated again, "YOU WILL NOT REPEAT ANY OF WHAT HAPPENED HERE TO ANYBODY!" Nodding blankly, they followed me as I walked out of the cave and back towards the picnic area. When I returned to the picnic area with Dennis and Amy, Matron Cole walked over towards me. With her hands on her hips, she demanded, "Where have you been?" I replied smoothly, "We were just taking a walk." "Oh, really?" she responded. "I find that hard to believe." "Do you?" I said nonchalantly. "That's all we were doing. Right, Dennis?" I glared at him until he responded feebly, "Y…y….yeah, that's all." "Well…OK," Matron Cole conceded, not yet entirely assured that was all there was to this explanation. "But Amy, you look a little pale. Are you all right?" "Yes," she responded quickly. "Tom never did anything to me." After an awkward silence, Matron Cole walked away, shaking her head in disbelief. The rest of the day trip went by without any problems, although I heard a few people muttering about what they thought might have really happened. The next day, at the orphanage, Billy Stubbs came up to me, holding his pet rabbit in his arms. "What really happened?" he demanded. "I don't believe any of this baloney! You may have put one over the Matron, but you can't fool me! I know you did something to Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop! And I'm going to find out!" "You can try," I said softly, "but take care. The things you care about can easily be…exterminated. You wouldn't want that to happen, would you?" "I don't care!" he hollered back. "I _will _find out everything I can about this, so you better watch out, Tom Riddle!" "Well," I said, "Why don't you ask them? They're right there." Billy walked over to where Dennis and Amy were sitting on the floor, staring pointlessly at the wall. "Hey," Billy said, "can I ask you guys a question?" "O…K…" they muttered slowly. "Did anything funny happen yesterday when you were with Tom?" "No…" they responded, "nothing funny…" "OK," Billy said. "Did anything unusual happen?" "No…" they responded, "nothing unu…su…al…" "OK," said Billy. "Did anything frightening or bad happen?" "No," they responded, "nothing bad…" "OK," said Billy yet again, "Did anything…" "OK, I think that's enough, Bi-lly," I said. "Why don't you go away? There obviously isn't anything strange or out of the ordinary that happened yesterday." "Yes there is!" he asserted stubbornly. "And me and my rabbit will find out the truth! And you can't stop us, Tom Riddle!" Matron Cole ran into the room, and demanded, "What's going on?" "Oh, nothing," I responded. "Just a minor disagreement, but it's fine now." "Hmmm…." Matron Cole said, narrowing her eyes. Without a word, she left the room as quickly as she entered. Billy Stubbs left too, taking his beloved rabbit with him. I wandered around the orphanage, and I could see Billy Stubbs talking to other kids. The other kids stared at me and whispered mutinously. I continued to wander through the rooms, until I finally found what I was looking for. While Billy was suspiciously spreading rumors about my doings, his rabbit had wandered off, alone and unprotected, becoming easy to bump off. Silently and stealthily, I placed the rabbit underneath my shirt, and made my way towards the basement. Once I reached the basement, I closed the door behind me and took out a length of rope from my pocket. "Hang," I commanded. The rope swiftly wrapped itself around the rabbit's neck and attached itself to the rafters twenty feet above. With a sharp snap, the rabbit's neck broke and it lay suspended twenty feet above, its life drained and its corpse lying there limp and still. Flushed with success, I exited the basement, only to see Billy Stubbs waiting outside. "There you are," he said. "I've been looking for you. Have you seen my rabbit?" "Maybe," I responded. "Well have you, or haven't you?" he demanded. "I suppose I have, but I don't think I quite remember where I last saw it." "Well…OK…" he muttered, walking off. The next day, I was awoken by Matron Cole's scream. "WHAT IS THIS RABBIT DOING IN THE BASEMENT? TOM, GET OVER HERE!" I decided to ignore the command, and in a few minutes, Matron Cole stormed into my room and dragged me out of my bed and into the basement. I yawned and rubbed my eyes. When I finished, I saw Billy Stubbs standing there, horrified. "Did you do this?" demanded Matron Cole. "No, of course not," I responded. "Why would I do a thing like that?" Matron Cole glared threateningly at me. "Don't get smart," she snarled. "I know that you and Billy argued yesterday. When Billy told me he found his rabbit in the basement, I was able to put two and two together. We'll have to punish you harshly for hanging Billy's rabbit." "But, Matron Cole," I rebutted, "how could I have done such a thing? Do you sincerely think I could have hung Billy's rabbit on rafters twenty feet above the ground?" For an instant, I saw a flicker of doubt enter the Matron's train of thought. "Well, no…I suppose you're right…" she said reluctantly. "Don't listen to him, Matron!" chirped Billy. "I know he did it!" "No…I don't think so," said Matron Cole. "I'm sorry, Billy, but I just don't see how Tom could have done it." "That's not fair!" whined Billy. Smirking triumphantly, I walked away from the room and back into my bed. Life at the orphanage gradually passed on. Over the following months, I had stolen many articles from unsuspecting children, stashing them away deep within my wardrobe. I turned eleven on December 31, celebrating my birthday in solitude, as I had always preferred it. Then, on that fateful day, I received a visitor who had news that would change my life.


	4. The Visitor

Chapter 3 The Visitor

I was sitting on top of the gray blankets of my bed, my legs stretched out in front of me, holding a book. I heard Matron Cole knock twice and enter. Her head poked in and she said, "Tom. You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton – sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you – well, I'll let him do it." As a tall, eccentric-looking man walked into the room, Matron Cole closed the door. In silence, I fumed. "What was he doing here? Were they going to take me away? What did he want?" After a moment, the man walked forward and held out his hand, saying, "How do you do, Tom?" I hesitated, then decided to take his hand, shaking it. The man drew up the hard wooden chair beside me, making the scene look oddly like a hospital patient and visitor. "I am Professor Dumbledore," he stated. "'Professor'?" I repeated. I glanced around warily. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did _she_ get you in to have a look at me?" I pointed at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left. "No, no," said the 'professor,' with an irritating smile on his face. "I don't believe you," I said. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!" I spoke the last three words with a ringing force, with the undertone of a command, which I had given many times before to younger children who I liked to bully. My eyes widened and I glared at the professor, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly in a disorienting manner. Something about him unnerved me. After a few seconds I stopped glaring, but was even warier than before. "Who are you?" I demanded. "I have told you," he responded. "My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school – your new school, if you would like to come." Furiously, I leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore. So this was what Matron Cole was up to! "You can't kid me!" I shouted. "The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course –well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!" "I am not from the asylum," he said patiently. "I am a teacher, and if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you –" "I'd like to see them try," I sneered. "Hogwarts," he went on, pretending he had not heard what I had just said, "is a school for people with special abilities –" "I'm not mad!" I retorted indignantly. He responded calmly, "I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic." I fell silent, frozen by what I had just heard. I tried to read the professor's expression, to tell if he was lying. Finally, I repeated in a whisper, "Magic?" "That's right," said the professor. "It's…it's magic, what I can do?" I asked. "What is it that you can do?" he replied. "All sorts," I breathed. Excitedly, I could feel my face reddening. "I can make things move without touching them, I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to." My legs started to tremble. I stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at my hands, with my head bowed as though in prayer. "I knew I was different," I whispered to my own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something." "Well, you were quite right," said the professor, who was no longer smiling, but watching me. "You are a wizard." I lifted my head, unable to prevent a wild happiness from spreading across my face. "Are you a wizard too?" I demanded. "Yes, I am," he answered. "Prove it," I said at once, in a commanding tone. The professor raised his eyebrows and said, "If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts –?" "Of course I am!" I shouted. "Then you will address me as 'Professor' or sir,' he replied. At this demand, my expression hardened fleetingly, but with an effort, I made my voice polite, "I'm sorry, sir," I said. "I meant –please, Professor, could you show me –?" To my joy, he drew a wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket and pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner. Then, he gave the wand a casual flick, and the wardrobe burst into flames. What was he doing? I jumped to my feet, howling in shock and rage; all my worldly possessions were contained within that wardrobe. If he burned them…if he… But as I began to approach the professor, the flames vanished, and I could see that the wardrobe was, by some miracle, completely undamaged. I stared from the wardrobe to the professor and pointed at the wand, asking, "Where can I get one of them?" "All in good time," said the professor. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe." Sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside the wardrobe. I blanched. What was the noise coming from? "Open the door," the professor commanded. Hesitantly, I crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, where I kept most of my stolen belongings in a cardboard box, the box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it. "Take it out," said the professor. I took down the quaking box, unnerved. "Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" asked the professor. I threw the professor a long, clear, calculating look. Finally, I decided that he knew the truth. "I suppose so, sir," I conceded. "Open it," he said. I took off the lid and tipped the contents onto my bed without looking at them. A yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth organ among other objects tumbled out of the box and stopped quivering. The professor said calmly, "You will return them to their owners with your apologies. I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts." Ignoring this reprimand, I stared coldly and appraisingly at the professor, saying at last in a colorless voice, "Yes, sir." "At Hogwarts," the professor continued, "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have – inadvertently, I am sure – been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic – yes, there is a Ministry – will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws." "Yes sir," I said again. Keeping my face blank, I put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box. When I finished, I turned to the professor and said baldly, "I haven't got any money." "That is easily remedied," he said, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but –" "Where do you buy spellbooks?" I interrupted, taking the heavy money bag, fully aware that I had not thanked him. As he continued to speak, I began to examine a strange, large golden coin. "In Diagon Alley," he said. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything –" "You're coming with me?" I asked, looking up. "Certainly, if you –" "I don't need you," I said. "I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley – sir?" I added, catching the professor's eye. Wordlessly, he handed me an envelope and then began telling me in explicit directions how to get from the orphanage to Diagon Alley. He said, "You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you – non-magical people, that is – will not. Ask for Tom the barman – easy enough to remember, as he shares your name –" I gave an involuntary irritable twitch, to which he said, "You dislike the name 'Tom'?" "There are a lot of Toms," I muttered. In spite of myself, I blurted out, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me." "I'm afraid I don't know," said the professor softly. "My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," I said, more to myself than to the professor. "It must've been him. So – when I've got all my stuff – when do I come to this Hogwarts?" "All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope," he said. "You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too." I nodded. The professor got to his feet and held out his hand again. Taking it, I said, "I can speak to snakes. I found that out when we've been to the country on trips – they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?" After a moment's hesitation, he responded, "It is unusual, but not unheard of." Though I could sense he was keeping his tone casual, I noticed that his eyes moved curiously as he stared at me for a brief moment. He shook my hand, and said, "Good-bye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."


	5. Diagon Alley

Chapter 4 Diagon Alley

I followed the directions the professor gave me, and I was in awe of what I saw behind the brick wall. The first building I saw was something called an 'Apothecary.' I knew not what it was, but the letter inside the envelope had dictated that I would need to purchase potion ingredients there. I purchased the necessary potion ingredients for a first-year and proceeded to buy some of the other required materials, including my books at Flourish and Blott's. I thought about purchasing an owl at Eeylops' Owl Emporium. One owl in particular caught my eye; it was a beautiful snowy-white owl. I contemplated buying it, but the number of coins inside the money bag had dwindled rapidly. After long, hard consideration, I decided not to buy the owl. I briefly lamented my decision, but I soon erased all regret for my decision. I had no use for an owl. I knew, from the posters inside the Emporium, that owls were useful in delivery and transportation of mail, but I did not expect to receive or need to send any post. I made my way further down Diagon Alley, purchasing my robes from a short witch named Madam Malkin. As I passed Madam Malkin's robe shop, I paused before an imposing snow-white marble building. It towered over the other shops, and I could see a set of white stairs leading up to a set of burnished bronze doors. I glanced skyward to read the letters carved into the marble of the building. GRINGOTTS WIZARDING BANK, it said. So this was where wizards stored their money, I observed. No doubt there were valuables, among the endless riches to be found here. I felt a strong indication that this would not be the last I would have to do with Gringotts. After I had taken in the sight of Gringotts, I continued to walk down Diagon Alley. At long last, I reached Ollivander's, the wand shop. This was what I had been most looking forward to, a magic wand. I pushed the door open and walked in. The bell tinkled as I walked in, and a man with graying hair answered. "Good day, young wizard. I am Mr. Ollivander," he said. "I presume you are here to purchase a wand." "Yes sir," I responded. "Good, good," he replied. "I remember every wand I've ever sold. The wand chooses the wizard, yes. Why, I remember the first wand I ever sold, sometime in the late eighteenth century, I believe. It was a wand made of holly with phoenix feather, very unique wand, very powerful indeed." I listened to the man's reminiscing with rapidly waning patience. As he droned on about some witch who had purchased a wand of cherry with unicorn hair, I could not suppress what I felt about this situation. "I don't particularly care, sir," I blurted. The man stopped in mid-reflection and paused to glare at me for a few moments. The glare was ominous and chilling, appearing to possess a sort of ancient and penetrating power. I refused to back down over those moments that seemed to stretch over eternities, and at last, he said, "Well then, if you may, let your wand choose you." "I don't understand what you mean, sir," I said. "Test some of these wands," he commanded. "You will know if it is the right one for you." "What difference does it make?" I demanded. "Your wand will be a wand which is tailored specifically to you. Of course, any witch or wizard will be able to use another's wand, but you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand." "I see," I said, "But what do I do?" "Take each wand out of its box and give it a flick," he answered. I took the first wand he presented me out of its box experimentally. "Blackthorn with dragon heartstring, ten inches." I waved the wand, but nothing happened. "Very well," he said. "I didn't expect that one to work well for you." He gave me another wand, which he said was birch and unicorn hair. I waved the wand, but the window broke. I was afraid that he would force me to pay for it with all the money I had in my bag, but he merely waved his own wand and enunciated, "Reparo." The window repaired magically, good as new. I tried wand after wand, experimenting with ten other wands, but none of them seemed to produce anything other than more broken windows and toppled shelves. I would have expected this to enrage Ollivander, but on the contrary, every failed wand seemed to improve Ollivander's mood. "Tricky customer, eh?" he wheezed. "No matter, no matter. Here, try this wand, I've been saving it." "What is it, sir?" I asked. "Yew, thirteen and a half inches, containing a single phoenix tail feather. Try it." I grasped the wand with my right hand, and immediately felt a warm, tingling sensation. I suddenly understood what Ollivander had meant. I waved the wand, and radiantly beautiful gold sparks emitted fluidly out of the end of the wand. "Excellent," was all Ollivander said. "I see that wand in particular has chosen you. I had thought it might." "Well, how much do I owe you for this wand, sir?" I asked. "Seven Galleons," he responded. "And I must say, that will be a pittance to pay for the greatness and glory that lies ahead of you." "Greatness, sir?" I asked. "Yes," he said, "greatness. That yew wand you carry, that yew wand which has chosen you possesses great and unimaginable power, power that would be disastrous in the wrong hands. Only a wizard of uncommon skill would be able to wield that wand. I think we can expect great things from you. Whether those great things will be good or terrible, I do not know. It is only certain that some people blessed with the ability to be great have chosen to journey along the darker path. For many before you have done great and terrible things. Terrible, but very great." Ollivander handed me my wand, and with unease, I walked out the door. I wasn't sure if I liked Ollivander. He had been knowledgeable and interesting at times, but he seemed eerie and frightening in a sense. I was nearly ready to depart from Diagon Alley, when I overheard a seedy-looking wizard say to another wizard, "Yes, you'll find very interesting artifacts of that manner down in Knockturn Alley." "Where is this Knockturn Alley?" the wizard asked. "Just down that way," said the seedy-looking wizard. Cautiously, I followed the wizard as he descended into a dark and ominous side alley. When we reached Knockturn Alley, I was in awe. Small shops lined the streets, selling unimaginable things, ranging from whole human fingernails to cursed artifacts. I ventured down the street, regretting the many things that caught my eye but were beyond the amount of money I had remaining in the money bag. After about a half hour of exploring Knockturn Alley, I ventured to leave, when a tall, intimidating man wearing a Ministry of Magic badge grabbed me by the left arm. This man was most likely involved in some type of public government. "What do you think you're doin' down here, boy?" he asked. "Unaccompanied, and in Knockturn Alley," he lectured, "this'll mean punishment!" I struggled to break free, but his grip was too strong. What was I going to do? It looked as if I had no choice but to submit to the mercy of this Ministry. But then I remembered. I was not helpless. I was a wizard, albeit a young, inexperienced one. I had a wand. My fingers groped for the wand stowed in my pocket, and without hesitation, I shouted. I never knew what I shouted. It was as if I was in a trance. The words put themselves in my mouth, but they had the desired effect. The man fell to the ground, writhing in some sort of agony, relinquishing his grip on me. I took advantage of the situation to grab my possessions and escape towards Diagon Alley. And it was without any complications that I found myself at King's Cross Station on September 1st.


	6. Getting to Hogwarts

Chapter 5 Getting to Hogwarts

I arrived at King's Cross Station at 10:30 in the morning on September 1st. After closer inspection of the ticket, I realized it said that the train would be departing Platform Nine and Three Quarters. What nonsense was this? How could they have a platform nine and three quarters? All I saw was a platform with a large plastic nine hanging over it and a platform with a large plastic ten. I was glancing directly at where this platform should be, but this was either someone's idea of an idiotic joke or an error. I wandered around aimlessly, starting to panic slightly, when at 10:50, I was no nearer to finding my way to the school train. A family of redheads were talking loudly. I did my best to ignore them, but they were really quite loud and bothersome. I grew more and more annoyed at them, until I heard the woman say, "Packed with Muggles, of course…" These words stirred my interest, as I recognized these redheads to be part of my world, the wizarding world. "Excuse me?" I said. "I'm afraid I don't know how to…how to…" "How to get on the platform?" the woman responded. "Oh, you just travel through that barrier right there. Mind you don't let any Muggles see you doing it. The trick is to disappear quietly through the barrier. Best to do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous." "Thank you," I said stiffly. "This is Roman's first year," she said, gesturing at a tall, freckle-faced boy. "Are you a first year as well?" she asked cheerfully. "Obviously," I responded coldly. "Otherwise I would think I would know how to get onto the platform." Her smile faded away, and she said nervously, "Well, maybe my son will see you around." I walked away and strolled confidently through the supposed barrier. When I passed through the barrier, it felt as if my body was rapidly shifting location. I found myself on a dark, stone platform. I looked at the sign. It read Platform Nine and Three Quarters. I had done it! I was going to board the Hogwarts Express. I saw Roman and some of his siblings enter the barrier as well. Roman waved at me, but I ignored him. I stepped onto the train and sat down in an empty compartment as the train took off. The ride was uneventful, as I sat there, thinking of ways to occupy my time. The tall, freckle-faced boy tried to sit down in my compartment and talk with me, but I had wordlessly cast a Stinging Jinx on him. I had learned the jinx from the only book I had perused, Elementary Hexes and Jinxes by Professor Charles Radbourne of the East Australian School of Magic. The textbook had only briefly mentioned nonverbal spells. I had first come across the term when perusing the last chapter of the book. The last chapter, for me, had always contained the most interesting, useful fragments of information, and I learned that students were not expected to be able to cast nonverbal spells until they were in the sixth year. I had decided to try anyway, and was delighted to find that I was able to perform them, without a day of magical education. Surely this proved I was special! Surely this proved I was superior to the other immature fools who were attending Hogwarts! A few more people had come into this compartment, looking for a place to sit, but I continued to practice my hexing and jinxing abilities, and after a while, I was left in the compartment, isolated and alone, the way I had always wanted it to be. Nothing else of interest happened on the way to Hogwarts, although I was less than pleased to learn that we would have to get to Hogwarts by boat. The gamekeeper, a man named Aberforth, declared that we would be traveling, no more than four to a boat. "Why do we have to travel by boat?" I drawled. "Wouldn't it be more efficient and enjoyable to travel by carriage like the other students do?" Some students nodded in my direction, as if they were on the verge of agreeing with me, but Aberforth silenced my objections. "You'll do what you're told," he said. "It's a Hogwarts tradition. It always has been that way, and it always will be. Now get in the boat before I have to start handing out punishments." Grumbling, I got into a tiny, creaky boat with three other students. As we were about to depart, I commented, "But wait. Aren't these boats too weak to support the weight of four of us?" Aberforth said, "I don't think that will be a problem. The boats are designed to carry a certain amount of magical power. As first-years who haven't received a day of magical education, I don't think any of you will count for much." Uncertainly, I readied myself to be transported to Hogwarts. After a long, dull journey across the lake, we ascended the stone steps, and Aberforth banged on the door. The door opened, and I saw Dumbledore, dressed in long robes, announcing, "Welcome to Hogwarts."


	7. The Sorting

Chapter 6 The Sorting

As we entered the castle, Dumbledore gave us time to dry off for a while, then began speaking. "Here at Hogwarts, you will each be sorted into one of four houses: Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin. While you are here, your house will be like your family. Any triumphs will earn your house points, and any rule-breaking will lose house points. The House with the most House Points at the end of the year will win the House Cup, a great honor which I am sure you will try to help your Houses achieve. You will soon be Sorted accordingly, in alphabetical order, into your respective Houses." Dumbledore led the first-years through the Entrance Hall, and we turned into towards a chamber in the Great Hall. "You will now be Sorted alphabetically. Please await your turn in the chamber until it is your turn." "How d'you reckon we get Sorted?" said a short, pathetic-looking boy. "D'you think we have to do any magic?" he asked me nervously. "Don't be ridiculous," I said scathingly. "How do you honestly think they'll expect us to perform magic without a single day's worth of magical education? Are you really that stupid?" "S…s…sorry," the boy whimpered. "I only meant…" But then I heard a voice ringing through the Great Hall, singing:

Oh you may think I'm unsightly

But don't judge on what you see

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me

Oh you can keep your bowlers black

Your top hats sleek and tall

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all

Your place may be in Gryffindor

Where dwell the brave at heart

Their chivalry and daring nerve

Set Gryffindors apart

You may belong to Hufflepuff

Where dwell the good and loyal

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil

You might belong in Ravenclaw

If you're a ready mind

Where those of wit and learning

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps you are a Slytherin

Where you'll make your real friends

Those cunning folk who will say

The means justify the end

So go ahead and put me on

And don't get in a flap

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!

It was then that I heard Dumbledore announce loudly, "Aaron, Will." A tall, skinny boy with jet-black hair made his way nervously out of the chamber. I could see now that he was sitting on a stool, where a hat was placed on his head, deciding which house he should be in. After a minute's decision, it said, "Ravenclaw!" I could see the Ravenclaw table applauding as they welcomed the newest member of their House. The next person, a girl named Cindy Arden was sorted into Hufflepuff. Barman, Moe became the first Gryffindor, and after three more people, Chapel, Franklin was the first to be sorted as a Slytherin. The Sorting process wore on, and I wondered how old I would be when I was called. Finally, the list of people to be Sorted wound down, until my name was near. After Parsons, Seth, and Raburn, Craig, I heard Dumbledore yell, "Tom Riddle!" I walked confidently towards the stool, and sat down. The hat touched my head and I heard it speaking to me in my mind. "Hmm, I can see you're of superior intelligence. That might make Ravenclaw a wise fit. But then, I see your ambition, I see your desire to be great, and that also causes me to think…I believe I've made my decision…SLYTHERIN!" the hat roared. I walked off towards the Slytherin table and was welcomed with their applause, although I could hardly fail to notice some of the more immature Gryffindor brats booing me. After several more people were Sorted, the Start-Of-Term Feast finally began. The headmaster, an old wizard called Armando Dippet clapped his hands, and food magically appeared on the golden plates. I was amazed. The food had appeared instantly, and there were all kinds of it. Potatoes: whipped, creamed and mashed, steaks and ribs, casseroles and lasagnas, all kinds of delicious food ranging from stews to steak-and-kidney pies. I piled a little of everything on my plate, and chewed with relish. After a while, the food cleared away and was replaced by a mountain of desserts. There were blocks of ice cream in just about any given flavor, éclairs, pastries, cakes and pies, and a delicious treacle tart. I dug into the treacle tart and savored every bite of it. This was truly the best meal I had ever enjoyed. Not because it was delicious, but because it was the first meal I had ever eaten in the magical world.


	8. The Potions Master

Chapter 7 The Potions Master

With a variety of magical classes the next day, I could hardly wait for the morning to arrive. I stayed up all night, never once falling asleep, as I perused the rest of my textbooks. Every word within the books was fascinating. The book assigned for Defense Against the Dark Arts in particular piqued my interest. There were pictures of the results of curses and jinxes, and there were a bounty of hexes and jinxes lifted in the book, complete with counterjinxes. I also read 1,001 Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore all the way through that night. The subject of Potions intrigued me as well, as I saw that a world of possibility lay in that direction as well, but it was not as seductive as Defense Against the Dark Arts was. Defense Against the Dark Arts represented fighting something that was ever-changing, fighting something that was always to be respected, as if the Dark Arts were a vast, many-headed monster, indestructible in its cruelty and power. Our first class that day was Transfiguration. I learned that Dumbledore was to be our teacher in that subject. He gave us a strict talking-to on our first day. "You will find that Transfiguration is as dangerous and complex as any other subject you will find here at Hogwarts. Transfiguration is not something to be trifled with, nor to be taken lightly. You will remain in my class only by showing the utmost care and respect for me and for what you are learning. Anyone caught fooling around in my class will leave and not come back. Is that clear?" After taking notes and discussing basic theory, Dumbledore had us turn matches into needles. On the first attempt, I transformed my match into a shiny silver needle which caught the sunlight at its sharp point. Dumbledore paused to look at my work, "Very good, Tom," he said. "It appears you have a natural affinity for this subject. Five points to Slytherin. You may read quietly for a few minutes until the class is over." When the bell rang, we departed for History of Magic. The teacher was a middle-aged woman named Hilda Bagshot. She was quite dull, however, simply discussing the causes of the Goblin Revolution in the year 422 B.C. in New Zealand. Charms was, in contrast, considerably more eventful. The professor, Professor Flitwick, a short man, simply spoke to us for a few minutes and then taught us how to perform the Wingardium Leviosa charm. Many people struggled to master the charm, while I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It really was not that difficult, I grumbled. You simply had to perform the swish and flick motion just as Flitwick instructed. I was interrupted in mid-thought as Professor Flitwick came over to where I was sitting and said, "Well, Tom? How are you doing?" I did not say a word to Flitwick, but merely said, "Wingardium Leviosa!" I pointed my wand at the large Gryffindor boy sitting next to me, and he levitated three feet into the air. "Hey!" he yelled. "Put me down, or I'll…" I ignored his blustering threats, causing him to float through the air, forcing him to perform a lap around the classroom. "Hey! I really mean it!" he continued yelling. "Put me down right now!" "Yes, Tom," said Professor Flitwick, chuckling. "I suppose you should put him down." I placed him down perfectly back into his chair, where he was sitting. "Yes, well, thank you Tom," said Professor Flitwick. "That was a very well-performed Levitation Charm. You seem to have an astounding grasp of the wrist movement and have already mastered the incantation. Twenty points to Slytherin." "But wait, what about his punishment?" asked the boy. Professor Flitwick did not seem to hear the boy and simply hollered, "Class dismissed!" As a group, I departed with the rest of the Slytherins, ignoring the dark muttering I heard from the boy and his friends. We headed for the cold, dark dungeons for our first Potions lesson. I had no idea what Potions would be like. It could easily be one of the worst or best subjects here at Hogwarts. I only knew from reading 1,001 Magical Herbs and Fungi that Potions provided a wide berth for creation and the working of magical miracles. I took a seat near the door, and waited for the professor to arrive. Within moments, a man who was short in stature, with thick, shiny straw-colored hair and a gingery-blond moustache waddled into the room. He had a large belly, as I could see the gold buttons on his waistcoats were taking a considerable amount of strain. His clothes were old-fashioned and unnecessarily lavish. Though his face was not yet quite lined and his hair was not yet quite gray, his hairline was already receding, with a large, round bald spot shining in the dim light of the dungeons. I knew I would not be able to take this man seriously. He was most likely an incompetent dunce who placed superfluous emphasis on the extravagant. I expected little from this man, but I expected I would be able to instruct myself properly in the art of Potions. "Oho!" he wheezed. "So these are the little first years!" I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "So!" he boomed. "You have yet to delve into the art of Potions! I see you have not yet been exposed to the wondrous magic that can lie in a simple flask or cauldron! Well, don't delay! Introduce yourselves! I am Professor Horace Slughorn, although you can simply call me Professor!" he chuckled. The room remained quiet, and Professor Slughorn continued, "Anyways, Potions is not all fun and games. Potions can be fun, but it is always something to be taken seriously." At last. Some intelligent conversation. He proceeded to speak, "Potions is an art which requires the ability to understand fine distinctions and follow specific instructions. Potions is a wide branch of magic which can create wonderful effects or go horribly wrong. It is an art which has seemingly limitless power, as I can teach you to brew the most marvelous concoctions which can capture even the intangible in a small glass vial. I can show you how to make happiness, manufacture luck, and even put a stopper in death. We will begin today with a relatively simple potion, the Pepper-Up Potion. I have prepared the necessary ingredients for each student, which each of you can retrieve in the cupboards. Get to work!" I headed towards the cupboards in the back of the room and retrieved the necessary ingredients according to the list posted on the inside of the cupboard. I went back to my cauldron and put it over the fire as the liquid inside it began to come to a boil. I added the salamander tail into the liquid, sprinkling powdered dandelion root into the cauldron, and the solution began to smoke, turning the exact shade of blood red dictated by the instructions. Professor Slughorn began stomping around the room, examining the progress each student was making on their potion. "Hmmm…" he said to one Hufflepuff, "I don't believe the potion is supposed to congeal like that. Do try to correct your solution." He shook his head as he walked past a row of Ravenclaws whose potions were carnation pink, and failed to suppress a snort of disbelief as he examined a Gryffindor's potion, which had somehow turned licorice-black. Finally, he came over to my cauldron and exclaimed, "Oho! The clear victor! This boy gets it! This boy understands the underlying principles of the art of Potions, the art within the art, I may say! Twenty points to Slytherin!" I ignored his continued praise and exclamation, but not without a slight hint of pride running through me. He was simply giving me my due. I _had_ brewed the potion perfectly. It was only natural for him to shower me with praise. Although after thirty seconds of his raving, it was becoming quite bothersome. Eventually he stopped, as the bell rang for us to go to our next class. As I turned to leave, he said, "One moment, Tom Riddle." I paused and turned to face him. "Yes, sir?" I inquired politely. "I would be delighted if you would come to join me for one of my suppers this coming Friday evening. It is not an opportunity given to most, only to a select group of students, which I call the Slug Club." "I don't know sir," I responded. "Well, when you decide, let me know," he replied. I walked off, having already decided there was no way I would attend his supper, no matter how starved I was. Our final class of the day was to be Defense Against the Dark Arts. I had been quite looking forward to this class. I wanted to see what the wizarding world was facing, what the monsters of darkness looked like when they showed their faces to the cowering world. The professor was a tall, ancient woman with silver hair and a face so wrinkled it resembled a shriveled old prune. She looked as if she could barely stand, let alone teach one of the most powerful subjects at Hogwarts. "Welcome," she said in a sharp, strong voice unsuited to her appearance. "This is Defense Against the Dark Arts, one of the most vital fields of magic you will explore during your time at Hogwarts. You will learn the skills necessary for survival and self-defense against the more sinister forces in the external world. You will learn to identify and repel Dark creatures, block unfriendly jinxes and spells, and more in this class. I am Professor Galatea Merrythought, and I have taught Defense Against the Dark Arts for forty-two years. This will be my forty-third, and I will expect nothing but the best from this class. First years you may be, but any idiocy or disregard for the subject I am teaching will not be taken to kindly. We will study jinxes and counterjinxes for the first few weeks of school before we progress to Dark creatures. Today, we will go into detail with the Flipendo spell. The Flipendo spell is a knockback jinx which can be used to topple objects or fend off approaching people. It is a weak jinx which cannot move very heavy objects, and is only as powerful as the wizard casting it. It is easily repelled, and I will teach you the counterjinx as we go." Professor Merrythought split the group into pairs, and I was paired with the same idiotic Gryffindor boy I had cast the Levitation Charm on earlier that day. We made our way towards a corner in the back of the room, and awaited further instruction. "Now," said Professor Merrythought, "on the count of three, you will both attempt to knock the other person backwards with the Flipendo incantation. One, two three!" "Flipendo!" I shouted. Blue light emerged from the tip of my wand and the Gryffindor boy was slammed backwards into a bookcase. The Gryffindor boy got up quickly and glared at me, raising his wand. I supposed this was the typical Gryffindor stupidity. If he possessed any brainpower whatsoever, he simply would have jinxed me back. Certainly he would be able to retaliate appropriately, without fear of punishment. But the astounding Gryffindor mental prowess kicked in, and he rashly tried to use a different spell on me. "Petrificus Totalus!" he yelled. The jet of yellow light shot towards me, but I stepped out of the way and heard a cry of astonishment as the curse hit Professor Merrythought, who fell to the ground facefirst.. Luckily for her, she still had her wand in her hand, and wordlessly, she undid the curse. She quickly got up to her feet and demanded, "What is the meaning of this? You dare to cast a dangerous curse on me? Your professor? Fifty points from Gryffindor!" "What?" the Gryffindor boy groaned in disbelief. "But I…he…" "Quiet!" she screeched. "I have no need to know what else happened. It is very clear to me that a detention may be just what you need. You will report to this classroom on Saturday morning at seven o'clock sharp. You will be used for the remedial class a target for Stunning." "But…I…" the Gryffindor boy mumbled. "No excuses!" she spat. The Gryffindor boy just murmured darkly. He cast a venomous glare in my direction and spat onto the ground. It looked like I had made an enemy. I smiled. There was nothing wrong with a little hatred in your life.


	9. The Slug Club

Chapter 8 The Slug Club

The rest of the week went by uneventfully. The classes were dull and ridiculously easy. It was a simple matter of doing the tasks the professors placed before me, then yawning for the rest of the period while the other dimwits struggled to master simple concepts. Professor Slughorn had become increasingly excited about my successes in Potions, raving that he had rarely taught anyone so talented. I had not yet told him whether or not I would be attending his supper, but my decision was made. That evening, I walked down to the Slytherin common room, and said the password. "Ancestry," I enunciated to the stone wall. The wall failed to part and I stood there, realizing that the password had been changed. I had no choice but to stand here stupidly and await a Slytherin who knew the password. It was then that Professor Slughorn waddled down the staircase leading to the Slytherin common room. "Tom!" he bellowed. "Fancy seeing you down here!" "Yes sir," I responded. "But what are you doing here?" "Why, don't you know?" he boomed. "I'm Head of Slytherin House! I came down here looking for you, and I succeeded in my venture! It wouldn't do to have my first supper without you! I want you to get to know some of the other people in the club, make connections! Come with me!" I decided to come with him, as there was no way I could politely reject his invitation in my current situation. This was going to be an evening to forget, I thought. What interest would I have in a stuffy dinner with a variety of students I didn't even know? After a few minutes of walking, I entered a large office with Professor Slughorn and he boomed to the dozen people who were seated at a square table, "This is Tom. Tom Riddle. He is a newly recruited member of the Slug Club, and he will be joining us for our supper today." I gave a silent nod of recognition to the people seated and took my seat. Professor Slughorn took out a large picnic basket and placed the contents on the table. He began passing down some steaming sort of bird, and asked, "More pheasant, Bagnold?" A short boy with glasses said in a high, irritating voice, "No, no thank you. My mother believes pheasant is rather unhealthy for the arteries. And I tend to listen to what my mother has to say. She _is _the Minister of Magic after all." "Yes, yes," Slughorn said dismissively. "I suppose. I doubt she rose to her position without exercising a considerable amount of good judgment. Anyways, once we finish our supper, the guests will arrive." I finished the pheasant on my plate and awaited the guests. After ten minutes or so, two tall men entered the room, one after the other. Slughorn jumped out of his seat to greet them, and introduced them to us. He gestured towards the brown-haired man. "This, of course, is Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, but everyone calls him 'Newt.'" He wrote 'Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them,' a truly excellent book which I believe is on every student's booklist." He gestured towards the other man, an extremely tall, black-haired man who towered above everyone else by a foot. The man simply nodded silently. "This man here is Basil Horton, a co-founder of the Comet Trading Company. Both of them are former students of mine. I helped young Newton here get in touch with Andrew Kettleburn, the head publisher of Obscurus Books, and that launched his career as a researcher! Basil here always had an interest in brooms and was a magnificent flier and a model student. I introduced him to Kevin Claybourne, who was able to loan him the money he needed to start his company, which is now one of the most successful broom companies in the world!" Slughorn continued speaking in this vein, and I wondered. Slughorn seemed to be a very well-connected person. He seemed to have a knack for getting in with the right people, and if what he was saying was true, many of his former students had gone on to achieve astounding success. This man had strings to pull, and I intended to use them to my advantage.


	10. Ancestry

Chapter 9 Ancestry

I received a surprise during my second week of school. Contrary to what I had believed, Professor Bagshot was not oblivious to the external world, and had decided an application of research was just what our History of Magic class needed. She had assigned an individual project detailing your entire family tree. This family tree would be due in a month's time, which she declared was plenty of time to learn 'the roots of your heritage.'

Many students received the news negatively, but I realized how little of my family I knew. I knew I had a mother and a father, the prerequisite for any person that had ever existed. But at the orphanage, they had never mentioned a grandfather or any aunts or uncles. No doubt if they were alive they would have taken me away from the orphanage. I had to learn more about my parents themselves.

I was directly descended from them, and I had to know just what my roots were. My mother had no magic in her blood. That at least I was sure of. But my father, my father might have been a great wizard. They never told me about his death at the orphanage. This must mean that he was still alive. But why had he left me there? Why had he never come to retrieve me, or at the very least, visit? There were many reasons, I concluded. He could have been imprisoned, or he might have been preoccupied. If he was a great wizard, perhaps he was trying to make a name for himself. If he was truly my father, I knew there was a cast-iron reason for his absence in my life. I wanted to know him more.

I began researching my history that very night. If my father was a wizard, he had to have gone to Hogwarts. I scanned the trophy case for his name in the large cabinet filled with Quidditch trophies. After examining the trophies twice, I was sure his name was not on any of the Quidditch trophies. That was perfectly fine. Athletics were merely a hindrance to the things that really mattered in life. Surely my father was wise enough to recognize them as a waste and likewise abstain from Quidditch.

There were no Riddles in the rest of the trophy case, but for all I knew, he had taken on a different surname. That was of no consequence. His surname meant nothing. It was his magical skill that interested me. I needed to know if he was a father I could have been proud to be descended from. I began reading a book on old wizarding families in the Hogwarts library, but after a few minutes, I realized I would make little progress without any knowledge of my father's name. They told me at the orphanage that my mother was named Merope, but had failed to provide a surname, saying she never gave it to them.

This project was pointless. There was no chance of me discovering my ancestry without the proper knowledge. I would simply have to explain my situation to her. The next time we had class, she agreed to my request that I be excused for the project. I would have to wait. Dumbledore might know the answer. He had been the one who had known about me before I knew magic even truly existed. Dumbledore would know.

At our next Transfiguration class, I hung back after class and waited for all the students to depart. Dumbledore started packing his things away, as it was the last class of the day. "Sir?" I said. "Yes, Tom?" he replied. "I was wondering if you could tell me something," I said.

"And what exactly would that be, Tom?" he inquired. "Did they ever tell you my father's name?" "You mean the orphanage? No. At Hogwarts, we have ways of unearthing information ourselves. Your father's name was exactly the same as yours, Tom Riddle."

"Was he a wizard?" I asked excitedly. "I'm sure he must have been a pure-blood. He was, wasn't he?" I demanded.

"That's neither here nor there," Dumbledore responded. "It makes little difference whether he was a pure-blood or not. Blood is blood, and no matter how supposedly pure it is, all blood is red and all blood can be spilled. It matters not what a person is born, but what they grow to be. You would do well to heed that advice, Tom. Good day."

He walked out of the classroom, leaving me standing there. He had not answered my question. Was he deliberately avoiding my question, or had he simply not heard me? I needed to know the answer, and now that I knew my father's name, I was determined to find it.

As the weeks wore on, finding out more about my heritage was all that interested me. I completed my schoolwork, but paid little attention during classes, contemplating what my father could have been.

Eventually, it was Christmas. I was one of the few to sign up to stay here for Christmas. It was a relief to be free from the other noisy inhabitants of Slytherin Dungeon. I relaxed by the fire, savoring its warmth and protection from the bitter cold.

The castle was mine to explore, and I began to wander around, looking to unearth some of the interesting secrets of Hogwarts. I began wandering the corridors at night, when there was nobody who could bother me, nobody who could stop me from venturing through the depths of Hogwarts. As a precaution, I cast a Disillusionment Charm on myself before every nighttime excursion. Occasionally, I stumbled upon a teacher, but my Disillusionment Charms were performed so well I was never detected.

One night, I had the misfortune to encounter Dumbledore, who was patrolling the corridors of the seventh floor, humming softly to himself. I shuffled along, confident he was oblivious to my presence.

A portrait on the wall bellowed, "What do you think you're doing there?"

I glanced around fearfully. Dumbledore turned around so he was facing the portrait and stared right at me. I held my breath, willing him to look away. After an eternity, he averted his gaze, simply deciding the portrait was speaking gibberish. But then, he began to stride swiftly and purposefully in my direction. I glanced around, my eyes darting across the floor. Dumbledore was taller than me, and could walk faster. Already I could feel the Disillusionment Charm beginning to wear off. Soon I would be visible, even in the pitch darkness. I was trapped. Perhaps the punishment would be light, considering it was Christmas. But there was no escape.

Dumbledore would see me in a matter of seconds, and he raised his wand and pointed it in my direction. "Locomotor Mortis!" he shouted. I sidestepped the curse, and felt a hot trickle run down my back. The Disillusionment Charm had worn off. In an instant, I would be completely visible to Dumbledore. I needed a place to hide, I thought feverishly. I needed a place to hide. Dumbledore raised his wand again, certain that there was now someone there. He shouted once more, "Locomotor Mortis!"

I leaned back against the wall and felt myself move through some kind of barrier. I found myself in a large room filled with objects. There were books and joke items, even a bloodstained axe in one of the piles of objects. This would do just nicely, I thought. I hid myself behind one of the piles and listened carefully. Dumbledore was talking to himself.

"Hmm," he was saying. "It appears that it was merely my imagination. It is very odd how tense the darkness of night can make you. I suppose it is about time to rest."

I stayed there, hidden, certain that this was a trap. Any moment now, Dumbledore was going to burst into the room and catch me out of bed, but I heard the sound of footsteps grow fainter until they completely died away. Casting another Disillusionment Charm, I stepped out of the room warily. There was no sign of Dumbledore, nor any other teacher. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Dumbledore did not know about this room. I doubt anybody knew of its existence. If even a teacher remained unaware of the room's existence, then surely I must have been the first person to ever stumble across the room. Having had enough excitement for the night, I went back down to the Slytherin common room and sank into a dreamless sleep.


	11. The Tale of the Three Brothers

Chapter 10 The Tale of the Three Brothers

Christmastime was rapidly approaching. The Great Hall had been redecorated, with twelve tall pine trees decorated with tinsel and candy canes. There was an ever-present air of holiday cooking in the air. Mistletoe was hung over doors, and the suits of armor in the castle had been bewitched to sing carols to passersby. Few people were around for Christmas, but I enjoyed the calm that accompanied Christmastime.

Christmastime was the moment when I could truly appreciate Hogwarts and all that it would provide for me. The Christmas feast was above and beyond any food I had ever tasted. There were meats marinated in sauces, chipolatas, and delicious Christmas desserts. I nearly broke my teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in my Christmas pudding, but was fortunate enough to not chip any of my teeth.

Everybody around me looked at ease and content, but I noticed Dumbledore was staring at me intently, with his fingers interlocked. I stared back at him, and he looked away quickly.

Later that night, I ran into Dumbledore in the seventh floor corridor. He paused to smile coldly at me, and I smiled back with equal hypocrisy.

"Merry Christmas," he said stiffly.

"Merry Christmas," I responded, in an equally stiff manner.

"I have a present for you, Tom," he said, in a more relaxed tone. He reached into the pocket of his robes and took out a large, hardcover book. I glanced at the title. It was a book called The Tales of Beedle the Bard. "I daresay you may find it interesting. It contains many wonderful stories that wizard children hear growing up, quite like the Muggle fairy tales."

"Thank you," I said hollowly.

What use was a book of fairy tales to me? I had far more important things to occupy my time than a collection of disgustingly cheery stories with no relevance to my life. There was nothing to be gained from such frivolity, and I wondered why Dumbledore had given it to me. I decided to glance through the stories, and opened the page to a story entitled 'The Tale of the Three Brothers.' I began reading.

_There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight._

_In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure. _

_And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him. _

_So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother. _

_Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead. _

_And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility. _

_Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death's gifts. _

_In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination. _

_The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible. _

_That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat. _

_And so Death took the first brother for his own. _

_Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him. _

_Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her. _

_And so Death took the second brother for his own. _

_But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life._

It was a mildly interesting story, but it was no more than a tale designed specifically to teach younger children a lesson. Obviously the lesson here was to be humble and not try to put others down.

The eldest brother had had the right idea, but brought it upon himself for being stupid enough to testify to his own greatness. No wonder the fool was killed. He may have wielded the power to conquer any wizard, but if he was dumb enough to leave himself in a vulnerable position, he deserved to die.

The second brother had been equally stupid. His death had been another example of the foolish sacrifices of love. Love caused fools to act rashly, and he had blindly given himself to Death, a wasted tribute.

The third brother was the most idiotic of the trio. If he had been blessed with the fortune of evading Death, why would he not continue to live? He had allowed himself to fall prey to the shameful human weakness of death. What imbecile would willingly allow himself to die? What dunce would throw away the gift of immortality?

This was all useless, of course. I cursed myself for allowing myself to waste so much time on this childish book of stories, and I tossed the book casually into the fire.


	12. Blood

Author's Note: Sorry I have taken a long time to update (for those of you that have read my story). I have been busy with work and Thanksgiving break.

Chapter 11 Blood

The holidays came to an abrupt close. The peaceful silence that had once permeated the Slytherin common room had dissolved with the return of the students on Sunday night. Many students were boasting loudly about satisfactory Christmas presents they had received, comparing their gifts to one another.

"I got a Cleansweep Three," bragged a tall blond-haired boy. "It's the latest Cleansweep model, and truly one of the best brooms out there."

"So what?" replied another Slytherin. "That's so last year's broom. _My_ father bought _me_ a Comet 180, which is now the international standard racing broom."

Multiple conversations continued in this vein, growing so irritating that I decided to head up to my room to sleep even though it was just past nine. But I found the way to the dormitory blocked by two large, muscular seventh-years.

"Where do you think you're going, firstie?" said one of the seventh-years. "Is it your bedtime already?"

"No," I responded. "I simply grow weary of this inane chatter in the common room,"

"Ooooooooohhhh," said the other seventh-year. "Little baby firstie knows his vocabulary."

"Let me through, or I'll curse you," I said, as my irritation was beginning to rise alarmingly close to the surface.

"That sounds like a threat," said the first seventh-year. "And we know how to handle first-years who don't know their place. Petrifi-!"

"Silencio!" I shouted.

"What the…?" said the other seventh-year. "Incarce-"

"Petrificus Totalus!" I yelled. He became rigid like a wooden plank, and fell to the ground with a thud. The first seventh-year had nonverbally removed the Silencing Charm, and raised his wand to curse me.

"Serpensortia!" I shouted. A serpent uncoiled from the end of my wand, and I said with a hiss, "Kill." The seventh-year looked at me with a bewildered expression on his face as the snake slithered towards him in exaggerated undulating motions. I smirked. There was nothing he could do about it. He had no idea what I had just said, and as long as he was never permanently injured, he had no case against me.

I raised my wand lazily to Vanish the snake, but the seventh-year shouted, "Reducto!"

The snake froze and crumbled into dust and ashes right at the seventh-year's feet.

"What d'you think you're playing at?" he gasped nervously. I cast a menacing smirk in his direction, causing him to sprint in the opposite direction.

"Evanesco," I said quietly, Vanishing the dust.

The next day, word had spread about my display of Parseltongue. I could feel people staring at me, whispering underhandedly and throwing strange looks in my direction. By some miracle, no word had reached any of the staff members, possibly because the members of the House were fearful of retribution.

And so life went on without further ado. The seventh-year who had attempted to harass me went out of his way to avoid me, running away in the opposite direction whenever he came near me. It was all very well. This fear that Slytherin House had of me was no curse, but a blessing. Fear was a sign that respect for the one feared was present. I reveled in the disquiet of the tense atmosphere that lingered over the next few days.

I was able to read without disruptions, to delve into the knowledge of the magical world without anything to disturb the blessed silence. I was able to glean more knowledge about Salazar Slytherin from a book about Hogwarts. He had placed great emphasis on the purity of a person's magical blood and how ambitious they were. At first, it seemed to be an idiotic way to determine who went into Slytherin, but I realized it made a great deal of sense. Only those of noble stock would be the most magically powerful.

Of the four founders, I found Gryffindor and Hufflepuff to have the most pathetic ways of selecting their students. Apparently, Gryffindor wanted students who were brave and chivalrous. What Gryffindor probably failed to realize was that Hogwarts was not King Arthur's court. Hufflepuff virtually selected the students who weren't good enough or wanted by any of the other houses. It was for the people who had nothing to their names, who had no future in sight. The book had said that Hufflepuffs had an alarmingly high 35.4 percent unemployment rate, meaning over one-third of former Hufflepuffs were unable to find work because of their lack of talent in any given field. Ravenclaw's students of choice were the students who were the most intelligent and willing to learn. It was a worthy philosophy, flawed as it was. Even if Ravenclaw had the smartest students, their intelligence wouldn't make much of a difference if they didn't have the right magic in their blood or ambition to succeed. Those characteristics were something only the Slytherins possessed. Slytherin knew what he was doing. Slytherin had the right idea.

I found a book on blood purity misplaced from the Restricted Section. I had cast a Disillusionment Charm on it and hidden it under my robes. It proved to be an interesting read, as I realized even further the importance of the purity of one's blood. Magical power seemed to be directly related to the purity of blood. The book went on to list many pure-bloods and half-bloods who had gone on to great success, including Salazar Slytherin himself. The book also provided a list that was deservedly short of Muggle-borns who had gone on to success in various fields.

I saw that Dumbledore had been a great wizard as a young man, winning many esteemed magical awards and honors won only by the 'most notable magical names of the day.' There was a chapter dedicated to his accomplishments and successes in different fields of magic. He had been a champion duelist and was the youngest wizard to ever win the Ravenclaw Award, the highest magical award in existence for his studies on the uses of dragon blood and alchemy. He had also won the Inter-Magical Achievement Award for being an advocate for the rights of Muggle-borns and Squibs.

I sneered. For all his accomplishments and genius and amazing talent, Dumbledore was just another fool. Another fool who failed to see where true power came from, and why it was so. Dumbledore had no idea how far he could have gone with the magical ability he possessed. The world could have been his for the taking, and his prime accomplishment was assisting Muggle-borns? It was a fruitless waste of life, and a lamentable waste of ability. Dumbledore was a fool, a fool who had no ambition, a fool who would never be great. No wonder he was in Gryffindor.

As the year progressed, classes were becoming somewhat more difficult. I could see other students, even the supposedly intelligent Ravenclaws struggle with the theory in Transfiguration and the brewing of simple potions. I paid little attention in Transfiguration class, and was the only student that was not frantically taking notes in preparation of the final exams.

I could tell this infuriated Dumbledore. He always smiled whenever I glanced in his direction, but his eyes told a different story. The message in his eyes challenged me, questioned me. His eyes seemed to be saying everything that was going on his head. After another session of class in which I did nothing but stare aimlessly around the room, he asked me to stay after class.

"What is it about my class that you find so lacking in interest, Tom?"

"Well," I said, "I just don't feel I'm being challenged by the material. I already know all of this, and there's virtually no point in my attending class. It just doesn't seem to matter very much to me, when I know all this already, sir."

"I'm sorry to hear you find my class so dull, Tom. However, I cannot allow the matter to rest. You do yourself a disservice by behaving this way in my class. Tell me, do you behave this way in any of your other classes?"

I looked at him, and I could feel his eyes staring into me, as if he was probing into my mind.

"I thought not," he said after a moment. "It is very interesting what my esteemed colleagues say about you, Tom. They can find no fault in you. Many are sympathetic for the hard life you have endured at the orphanage, and the rest of them acknowledge you as a brilliant student who is modest and respectful to the last degree. I, however, fail to be impressed. Thus far, you have failed to exhibit any of these qualities in my class. What I have seen from you is laziness, arrogance, and an unwavering belief in your self-importance.. I, however, fail to be impressed. It seems the Sorting Hat chose well when it placed you in Slytherin, for you exhibit many of the qualities Slytherin himself had. You may be a Ravenclaw in wit and sharpness of mind, but you are truly a Slytherin."

With that, he went out the door, and I followed him, bewildered at his inability to appreciate my talent.


	13. Influence

Chapter 12

Author's Note: If there are any of you readers still out there, I am very sorry that I have taken this long to update. At first, I was busy with schoolwork and needed to pick up my sagging GPA. I meant to update over the holidays, but I just kept forgetting and things eventually snowballed to where they are now. I will try to update semi-regularly, depending on my schoolwork and the ideas that pop into my head. Incidentally, if any readers want to give me suggestions for the story, I will be more than happy to take them into account. As of now, I am trying to decide whether I should spend numerous chapters over every year of Tom's education at Hogwarts, or if I should just briefly summarize the less important years (basically up until at least third year, when he begins searching for the Chamber of Secrets)

(This is a short chapter)

Chapter 12 Influence

While Dumbledore frowned with slight disdain at my accomplishments in Transfiguration, Slughorn absolutely beamed, raving that he had rarely taught anyone so talented. "I don't know where you get your genes, boy!" he crowed. "With abilities like yours, you _**must**_be a pure-blood!" "I don't think so, sir," I said. "Nonsense," replied Slughorn. "At the very least one of your parents must have been an exceptionally powerful wizard. It's clear that precious few Muggle-borns would possess the magical talent you do." I shrugged, but inwardly I beamed. Wherever my father was, he was surely accomplishing great things. There was no doubt in my mind as to that. Meetings of the Slug Club were sporadic, but every meeting had plenty to offer in the way of influence. At every meeting, there were famous witches and wizards, all former students and favorites of Slughorn's. Some of the witches and wizards were the best of the age, with the Ministry's Head Defensive Technician Glenn T. Cyborg. Cyborg had invented the Projectile Charm, which prevented magical dwellings from being harmed by explosives. This charm had become essential since World War II had begun, as it had saved many wizarding lives and homes. Then there was Libatius Borage, one of the greatest potioneers in the history of wizard-kind. He had invented Amortentia, the Polyjuice Potion, and Felix Felicis. He had written the textbook for the Potions N.E.W.T. level, was the head of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, and had won the Golden Cauldron at the age of twenty-nine for his discovery of Felix Felicis. Those two were the most prominent among the wizards and witches I remembered, but there were many others. It seemed as if Slughorn enjoyed the fact that he had helped these people become who they were. He seemed to bask in the glory of their fame, and content to know he had played a part in their successes. It seemed incredible the amount of influence one teacher could have on the lives of hundreds of students. Perhaps he had met my father when he went to Hogwarts. I would have to ask him another time. But now, it was getting late and I wanted to find out about my father's greatness at Hogwarts myself. In the rest of my classes, the teachers were convinced that I was nothing short of the perfect student. With the obvious exception of Dumbledore, all seemed to believe I could do no wrong. But Dumbledore was different. He seemed to emanate a slight chill, though he was affable and smiling externally. Every time his blue eyes stared at me, I felt as if he were penetrating me, reading my innermost thoughts and analyzing my innermost feelings. It never occurred to me to try to flatter him the way I had with other teachers. He knew me well enough to instantly see through any façade of angelic behavior. I could only display my wealth of talent in his class, which he grudgingly acknowledged. But all the time, those eyes never stopped watching me…


End file.
